Larry Niven - The Trellis

“We haven't gone far enough,” Kyle said, easing onto a spot where leaf met stem, hooking a leg over a leaf. “Stopping is crazy.” At least Pluto finally looked further away. He stared down on the top of Little Siberia and picked out the observatory. “Let's push until we make at least sixteen klicks. We need twenty-five klicks.”

“Ever run a marathon? If you sprint the first five kilometers, you never make the end. Besides, it's time for a word with our sponsors.”

Henrywanted to talk to Calvin?

“Calvin?”

“Yes?”

The camera probe had stopped too. “Calvin, can you pan the probe cam and give us directions? I want to end up somewhere near Lark.”

Kyle eyed the knotted mess of growth. Styx looked like a close-knit weave of plant life, but there were gaps. The long strings of forest moved and twisted and intertwined, constantly knotting and shifting. Silver threads of carbon fiber trellis flickered in and out of view. Choices had looked simple from a distance. Here, tangles and obstacles were everywhere.

Meanwhile, Calvin described a full incident support team assembled—virtually—at the currently nearest Trans-Neptunian object, Kiley3, mere light-minutes away. He described doctors, climbing experts, psychologists, child psychologists, biologists...

Henry interrupted. “So did you scrape everyone on Kiley3 into your support team?”

“They're getting paid. Thought you'd be grateful. They're not all on Kiley3—”

“I'm grateful,” Kyle said. They might be able to use the help.

“Want to be introduced?” Calvin asked.

Henry shook his head. “I'd rather have visuals of the best path out of here.”

“Dr. Yi is working on it. In the meantime, Dr. Gerry thinks you should have at least a twenty-minute rest. That's time to meet everyone.”

Kyle suddenly understood why Henry was being so irascible. A hot thread of anger mixed with his worry about Lark. He checked: they had enough water and broth to last a few hours. He withdrew his siphon from the stem, making sure Henry saw him. Henry winked, tucked his siphon carefully into a belt pouch.

As a concession to their need for rest, Kyle let Henry lead.

“But ... but you haven't met the team yet!”

Henry spoke for them as he reached up into the knot, grabbing for a writhing stem. “It's not your little girl up there. Do not slow us down to entertain your viewers.”

To his credit, Calvin shut up and produced Dr. Yi, who guided them across the knotted region without a hitch. “So now you understand the relationship?” Henry asked.

“We'll help you any way we can. But you should meet the team.”

A kilometer further on, they did stop for rest. Although he knew Lark was descending at the same rate, the sensation of slow movement as the vines below them grew and wriggled and twined toward Pluto was strange. Starting again, Kyle realized how much his shoulders and arms hurt. Hundreds of the same motions wore on muscles. They got to twenty klicks before exhaustion won. Half a kilometer higher, they found a good place to anchor their habitat. They stopped and called for it, waiting.

Their suit radios could talk to Lark from here. “Lark, how are you doing?”

“Hi Dad, Henry. I can see you on the feed from the probe-cam. Wish I was out there with you.”

“Yeah, like we're here on purpose,” Kyle said.

“You've got a better view of Styx than I ever had, except for a few minutes EVA. I'm looking forward to climbing down.”

“Yeah, I plan on taking Shooter down.”

“We'll climb. Shooter' s dead. Besides, I want to walk the Styx.”

“What's so exciting about the Styx? It's actually pretty boring. Kilometers of stems and leaves, and then more kilometers of stems and leaves. Sometimes there's a flower.”

“Yeah, well, galaxies are clusters of pretty damned boring stars. Sometimes there's a nebula. Styx is cooler than you think, Dad. I was on my way to some flowers that look bigger and seem to direct the stem float in the forest. That's new behavior. I think the vines are responding to the system getting colder.”

Kyle didn't want an argument. He wasn't a total idiot about the Styx. “Well, they use energy—metabolism—lots of it, right? That's how they're supple even out here, and how the water and broth don't freeze.”

“No kidding. But up towards the middle there's more activity. More flowers, and I think even color. Styx is changing. I just know it. Whatever's changing above me will grow down to Pluto. I want to get higher.”

“How about we get lower first? Like back to Pluto?”

“Jeremy says you're being way too cautious.”

“Jeremy?”

“There's a bunch of kids here now. In virt. Tourists. I'm really glad Paul thought of this. The worst thing was being so alone; it's so boring to be still. I'm getting cramps too.”

Oh. “Stay safe.” The round cage of supplies rose over the edge of a leaf, its circle of probes bobbing like fishing net floats. “I better go.”

There were too many camera perspectives, and too many helpers. The basket tangled hopelessly one stem over. Kyle frowned. “Now I see how she got caught. Maybe I should quit being mad at her.”

Henry stared thoughtfully at the supplies dangling just out of their reach. “I'll belay you.”

“Great.”

“You're the young strong buck.”

Kyle grunted, mimicking a baboon.

Henry held the rope as Kyle pushed the basket away from its vine trap and spread the probes out again. It was almost free-fall—he went down at a drifter's pace. “Okay—that's as close as it's coming tonight.” Kyle retrieved the sleeping habitat from the basket, tucking it under one arm. Henry reeled Kyle back slowly.

It took an hour to figure out how to wrestle the habitat into shape and anchor it. Unfolded, it was a long sheet of metallic fabric anchored between two stems. Henry plugged it into a stem, into the blue oxygen tube. The habitat bucked and waved, sucking in the air, expanding as it warmed the gas. Layers of skin filled one by one—living space, stored atmosphere, insulation, a shell thickening into a walnut shape.

The set-up looked fragile. They climbed in, waiting until sensors told them the habitat held pressure enough to unsuit. As he lay down, Kyle imagined the anchoring creepers growing away from each other as they slept. He didn't really care. Being out of the constant breathing motion of the suit was wonderful.

Six hours later, Calvin woke them with lyrics from the ancient The Sound of Music , “Climb Every Mountain.” It was ridiculously inappropriate. Kyle wanted to throttle Calvin.

* * *

Four long climbs and three uneasy sleeps later, they were halfway there. Lark spent part of each day telling jokes. Tourists fed them to her, and she fed them in turn to Kyle and Henry. It kept her engaged.

Kyle hated most of the jokes.

He was surprised that he liked talking to the networks. The attention helped him forget aches in his muscles. The audience was a focus and a safety net. He took small risks, and on breaks he talked astronomy. Lark did voiceovers for the audience, telling them about the creepers. She talked to the team on Kiley3. She talked constantly—to Kyle, to Henry, to the announcers. She even took to calling the Christy and Little Siberia base staff “tourists.”

Kyle worried about Henry. His face was red with exertion and spider veins showed up on his nose and face in thin red lines. Henry refused to talk much to anyone except Lark and Kyle. It bothered Kyle.

There was no night or morning; Pluto's six-and-a-half-hour day barely noticed the Sun. Kyle counted time in sleeps. This was their fifth sleep. “Henry? How come you're so quiet?”

“Seems like no one's business how we're doing.”